


Maybe I'll Meet Someone and Make Her Mine

by cardinalgirl75



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But definitely a happy ending, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of incest, sad at times, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalgirl75/pseuds/cardinalgirl75
Summary: Jaime tried not to resent his father’s absence from the Christmas holiday once again.  The words his mother had told him twenty-eight years earlier echoed in his mind when he thought of his father and he tried to forgive him as she had forgiven him.  But Jaime wasn’t fond of Christmas himself, and being forced to attend this party year after year felt like Tywin’s retaliation for Jaime’s refusal to follow the path his father had chosen for him.Jaime gets roped into attending another Christmas party, where he meets someone who might just change his outlook on life.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 34
Kudos: 180
Collections: JB Online 2019 Advent Calendar Collection, Sevenmas & Other Winter Holidays





	Maybe I'll Meet Someone and Make Her Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Back again for my second entry in the 2019 JB Online Advent Calendar! If possible, I'm even more nervous about this one. I hope everyone enjoys it. The story title comes from the song "Hard Candy Christmas" by Dolly Parton, and lyrics from that song are used throughout the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters are the property of GRRM. I make no money from borrowing them for this story, etc. etc. There's no point in suing me, George, as the student loan collectors come first and I owe them enough for two lifetimes.

When Jaime was a boy, Christmas seemed a magical time of year. He loved watching Christmas specials on television even if Nanny Mariya groused about them being “garbage that’ll rot your brain.” He loved helping his mother decorate the house even if his father harrumphed that they “had people for that, Joanna, and that’s no job for a boy.” He loved seeing Christmas lights all over town even if Cersei sneered that they were “trashy,” a phrase she’d no doubt picked up from both their nanny and father.

Jaime went to sleep every night with dreams of rollicking around in snow, making snowmen with Cersei, building a snow fort with his best friends Addam and Daven and having massive snowball fights with other neighborhood kids, then going inside and getting hot chocolate and cookies from his mother. The only part of his dreams that ever came true was the last part. They lived too far south to get snow often, and what little they got melted away almost as fast as it fell.

But the thing Jaime loved best about Christmas was it meant his father came home to spend time with them.

Tywin Lannister was considered a Very Important Man in Westerosi politics, having come up the ranks quickly for a man his age. Although he did not yet hold a political office, everyone knew that one day he would. And when he did, the Party would make changes to Westeros that would last a thousand years. That was what Jaime heard, anyway, though he understood little about that and cared less except that it meant his father wasn’t home often during the year. No matter how much Cersei pleaded, Tywin and Joanna refused to move the family to King’s Landing and refused to say why. So Tywin spent most of his time there, coming home when government wasn’t in session, but even then he was so often on the phone or in meetings that they didn’t see him much.

Except for Christmas. Joanna had put her foot down years ago that Tywin _would_ be home for the entire four weeks that the government took off for the holiday and he _would_ spend that time with his family. She wasn’t naïve enough to insist that he not do any work—having grown up in a family as affiliated with politics as Tywin’s own, she knew that political machinations didn’t stop for holidays—but when the children came home from school in the afternoons, and on weekends, the family spent the time together.

Cersei had told Jaime that she couldn’t figure out how their mother did it. As far as she could see, their mother had no power at all as she just stayed at home and took care of the house, but she’d insisted, and their father obeyed.

Jaime had shrugged because the answer seemed obvious to him. “He does it because he loves her.”

Cersei had crinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, there has to be more to it than that. Maybe she’ll tell me if I ask.”

Jaime never knew if Cersei got the answer she sought, the conversation leaving his head as soon as Addam and Daven turned up to play at being the Knights of Winter in the backyard.

The year Jaime and Cersei were seven was different right from the start. For one thing, Mother was pregnant and by December, her belly was quite round. Jaime thought it looked like she’d swallowed a soccer ball and made the mistake of telling his mother that in his father’s hearing. Tywin had been furious and made Jaime apologize immediately, then sent him to bed without supper.

Joanna later snuck into Jaime’s room with a sandwich, an apple, and a Santa-shaped sugar cookie. She gave him a kiss on the forehead and told him that she wasn’t mad at him. She laughed and said that sometimes she felt like she’d swallowed a soccer ball, and then she put his hand on her stomach.

“That’s your little brother,” she said as Jaime’s eyes brightened, feeling the baby kick as though it knew he was there, waiting for a sign of life.

“It might be a girl,” Jaime said. “Cersei wants a sister, and she always gets what she wants.”

Joanna shook her head. “Trust me, my little knight, this is a boy. Mothers know these things. But once he’s here, Cersei won’t care. She’ll love him as much as she loves…” Something gave her pause, and she frowned. “Eat your supper and go to bed. I’ll come back later for the plate.”

“I love you, Mommy,” Jaime whispered.

“I love you, too, Jaime,” she said, with another kiss on the top of his head. She stood up slowly, her hand going to her back as though she were in pain, and she stopped for a moment before leaving the room.

Jaime ate quickly because he worried that if his father came in to check on him—which he knew had never happened even if Cersei insisted that he came to check on _her_ all the time—that he would catch him with the food and be mad at his mother. In fact, once he was finished, he decided that he would put away his own plate so his mother didn’t have to come back and risk getting in trouble. He tiptoed down the stairs and was almost to the kitchen when he heard raised voices in the library.

“I don’t think you understand how precarious things are right now in King’s Landing,” his father said. “The Party is pushing Aerys as the front-runner for President even though they _know_ he isn’t fit to lead Westeros. Hell, a goddamned court jester would be a better leader for this country. But he has the Targaryen name and a face people recognize, so they’re pushing him forward. It’s taken everything I have to keep his more dangerous habits hidden from the public. And now, when things should be settling down for the holidays, _now_ he decides to show his true colors in a Flea Bottom brothel. I have to go.”

“There are other people who can handle this,” his mother said. “You trained them well, Tywin. Let one of them handle it. You promised you would stay home until after the baby’s born.”

“One simply does not say no to the future president.”

“ _I_ did. And the stakes were far higher when I did, so you can say no to him now.”

“Joanna…if I don’t go, our future will be in jeopardy. Our _children’s_ futures. I don’t want to go, especially since I know this pregnancy’s been harder on you than the twins were. But if I don’t go, the Party will…”

“The Party can go to the lowest depths of hell!” she snapped. Jaime didn’t think he’d ever heard his mother raise her voice; much less sound so angry. “Tywin, I love you. I’ve loved you since the day I saw you, and I know how hard you’ve fought to overcome your father’s legacy and the whispers behind your back. I know that you’ve done things I won’t approve of, and I know you’ll never tell me because you’re afraid I won’t love you if I knew.” She took a shuddering breath and lowered her voice. “I know what this means to you, and I want that success as much as you do. But I have to draw a line somewhere, and this is it. You say you’re doing everything for your family, but you don’t understand that by doing this, you’re sacrificing that family to the Party’s interests, and I won’t have it.”

“JoJo…” His father’s voice had softened in a way Jaime had never heard. “If it were something trifling, I would let an underling handle it. But if this isn’t handled properly, it could blow up in our faces worse than wildfire. I have to go.” There was a short pause. “There’s a week to Christmas. That should be more than enough time for me to get things squared away. I swear to you that I will be home on Christmas Eve at the latest, and I won’t leave until after the baby is born.”

Jaime heard his mother crying just as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and Jaime looked up to see Nanny Mariya frowning down at him. “For shame, young man,” she whispered, grabbing the plate in his hand. “Sneaking into the kitchen when your father forbade you to eat, spying on your parents…get back upstairs and go to bed.”

Jaime didn’t argue. He scampered to his room, but sleep proved elusive. He felt as though he had barely managed to fall asleep when Nanny Mariya was waking him again, telling him he had to get up to go to school. Jaime complained of an upset stomach and a headache, but the nanny was having none of it. She snapped at him that it was his own fault for being up so late, and if he didn’t hurry up, he would have a smarting backside to go along with his other alleged complaints.

Jaime dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, not that he felt like eating much. Cersei was already in the family dining room, daintily eating toast and a scrambled egg. Jaime barely acknowledged her as he trudged toward the kitchen. As he approached, he could hear the radio playing softly, and someone singing along with it.

“I’ll be fine and dandy…Lord it’s like a hard candy Christmas…I’m barely getting through tomorrow…but still I won’t let sorrow bring me way down…”

The voice was so sweet and sad that Jaime was almost in tears even before he got to the kitchen and saw who it was. Sitting in a little alcove just off the kitchen, staring out the bay window, was his mother. A cup of tea sat untouched beside her.

Jaime knew without being told that his father was gone, back to King’s Landing to deal with whatever had happened.

“Mommy?”

She brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand and put on a false smile as she turned to face him. “Jaime, Nanny Mariya tells me you’re being poky this morning.”

“Mommy, I don’t feel well.”

Her smile faded as she stood up and walked over to him. She placed a cool hand on his forehead even though he knew he wasn’t running a fever. Jaime expected her to say the same thing the nanny had, but to his surprise, she said, “You don’t look well, sweetling. Why don’t you sit down here while I make sure your sister gets off to school, then I’ll fix you some fresh toast and tea?”

Jaime nodded and sat where his mother had been while she waddled into the dining room to announce to Cersei and Nanny Mariya that he would be staying home. Both of them raised complaints—the nanny because she believed Jaime was faking, and Cersei because if Jaime was sick, then she had to be sick as well so why couldn’t she stay home, too?

His mother quickly dispatched both by telling the nanny that she would concern herself with her son, thank you, and that Cersei was obviously not sick if she could kick up such a fuss, so finish breakfast and get ready to leave for school.

And then they were gone, and Jaime was alone with his mother. She made the promised toast and tea, which they ate in silence as they sat together in the alcove and watched the world outside the bay window go by. They listened to Christmas music as his mother cradled Jaime in her arms—cheery tunes, goofy tunes, and then the song he’d heard his mother singing when he came into the kitchen replayed.

“Hey, maybe I’ll dye my hair,” she crooned softly into his ear. “Maybe I’ll move somewhere, maybe I’ll get a car, maybe I’ll drive so far they’ll all lose track…”

“Mommy,” he said, looking up at her, “why did Father have to leave?"

His mother paused. “You heard your father and I talking last night, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to!” he cried out. “I was just going to return the plate so you didn’t get in trouble and you were talking with Father and…”

“I’m not mad at you,” she said. “I just wish you hadn’t heard us, that’s all.”

“But he told you he would stay, then he left. Why did he leave?”

His mother didn’t speak for a time, just continued listening to the song. When it ended, she turned off the radio. “Jaime, there’s a lot that your father has to do for the government. What he does is important, because it keeps Westeros from warring with itself.” A strange look crossed her face. “The country was at war when I was your age, and it was a difficult time. Things have been peaceful for a while now, and it’s due in good part to your father. I may be upset that he had to leave us to take care of things back in King’s Landing, but my needs…” She sounded like she was about to cry. “My needs can’t come above the needs of the country. I don’t want the world to return to what it used to be. Your father had to leave to make sure that didn’t happen.”

Jaime wasn’t sure he understood all of that, but he nodded just the same. “I miss him,” he said.

“Oh, sweetling…he misses you, too. You and me and Cersei, and our little soccer ball here.”

Jaime laughed and hugged his mother.

“He’s promised he’ll be home for this,” Joanna murmured, her hand resting on the swell of her belly. “He’ll keep this promise, no matter what he has to do. We’ll have Christmas as a family this year, and every year for a long time to come.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Joanna turned out to be partly right. Tywin was home for the birth of his second son two months later. But Tywin didn’t make it home for Christmas that year, and the Lannisters never celebrated Christmas as a whole family ever again, because Joanna died bringing Tyrion into the world.

~*~*~*~*~*

Everyone who worked for Tywin Lannister hated just about everything about him. He was cold, ruthless, arrogant, and demanding—and those were just his good traits. He never smiled, though a rumor circulated about how he’d come close after Aerys Targaryen had been defeated in his bid for a fourth term as President in a Party coup known as Robert’s Rebellion. Working for Robert Baratheon, which meant working under Tywin Lannister, was often considered a feat of masochism unmatched in all Westeros.

There was one benefit to working on President Baratheon’s staff, however, and that was the annual Christmas party. The first year Robert had been in office, he had entrusted the planning to Tywin and had been outraged at the result—a dull, stodgy, black-tie affair that was held in a ritzy hotel ballroom where most of the employees felt out of place. Robert might have been many things—a philanderer, a functioning alcoholic, a misogynist at heart—but he understood the “common man” a lot better than most gave him credit for, and certainly a lot better than his Chief of Staff. After the debacle of the first year, Robert insisted that planning of all staff parties was to be outsourced, and he had final approval over the arrangements.

Conveniently, Tywin Lannister had arranged to be away on government business on those occasions, but as he felt that a Lannister’s presence was essential, he sent his sons in his absence. He never stopped to consider two things: first, that there was already a Lannister presence at these parties by virtue of the fact that Robert Baratheon was married to Cersei, and second, that his sons might have plans of their own. As it was, Tyrion was always up for joining in the drunken revelry (to his father’s disgust) and Jaime…

Jaime tried not to resent his father’s absence from the Christmas holiday once again. The words his mother had told him twenty-eight years earlier echoed in his mind when he thought of his father and he tried to forgive him as she had forgiven him. But Jaime wasn’t fond of Christmas himself, and being forced to attend this party year after year felt like Tywin’s retaliation for Jaime’s refusal to follow the path his father had chosen for him.

Tywin had wanted Jaime to uphold the Lannister tradition and become a lawyer, then slide into politics after a few years of “seasoning.” To that end, Tywin had chosen Jaime’s boarding school, but Jaime chose his extracurricular activities. Instead of the debate society and elitist social club his father had wanted him to join, Jaime had earned a spot on the varsity soccer team in his freshman year and went out of his way to make friends with the scholarship kids. Tywin chose the university Jaime attended, but Jaime had no interest in law or politics. Instead, he had instead majored in history, with a specialization in the Age of Heroes. Tywin’s fury when Jaime had informed him of this had been legendary. He’d refused to pay for Jaime’s college education only to be outmaneuvered when Jaime got hired on as a stripper at one of Littlefinger’s clubs in Flea Bottom.

After that, a bitter truce was arranged. Tywin would quit trying to run Jaime’s life and would allow him to choose his own path as long as Jaime didn’t do anything else to try and embarrass the family. Jaime had also agreed to attend whatever public events Tywin deemed necessary, as long as they didn’t interfere with Jaime’s duties as a professor at King’s Landing University and he was given a reasonable amount of notice.

Unspoken was the agreement that a big reason why Jaime was needed at these public events was to try and keep Tyrion in line. Tyrion might do outrageous things at these parties to humiliate his father and/or Cersei, but he would never embarrass Jaime.

Not intentionally, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*

This year’s party was well underway when Jaime arrived at The Throne Room and right off the bat he could tell it was going to be another wild night. The noise from the main ballroom could be heard from the parking lot—a mix of blaring music and loud, raucous voices trying to be heard over it. Jaime winced as he opened the door and wished he’d brought earplugs. His ears would be ringing for days after this.

The lighting was minimal, which meant seeing anything was going to be a bitch. In one corner of the room was a huge, elegantly decorated tree with fake presents underneath. Across from the tree was the open bar, where the bartenders worked fiercely to keep up with the demand of the patrons surrounding it like a pack of direwolves after prey. Most of the space of the huge room was dominated by the dance floor. By contrast to the lighting, the place was wall-to-wall people, no doubt far exceeding the maximum capacity of the room.

With a sinking heart, Jaime knew that finding his younger brother would be impossible in such a crowd until Tyrion did something to draw attention to himself, and by then it might be too late. Jaime yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and fired off a quick text to him anyway, hoping Tyrion might see it, realize he was here, and curb the worst of his impulses.

Jaime saw a few people he recognized from past years—Stannis Baratheon, Robert’s Press Secretary, with his dour expression that seemed as though he was calculating exactly how long it would take for the stories about this party to fade from public consciousness. Standing close to Stannis were his wife, Selyse, looking more dour than Stannis (which Jaime wouldn’t have thought possible, but she somehow managed it) and Davos Seaworth, who worked for Stannis in some capacity or other. Jaime had heard a few rumors about Stannis and Davos, but given how stodgy Stannis was, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe them. Davos was a good enough man, though.

He noticed Sandor Clegane, who worked as part of Robert’s protection detail and was one of the few people who stood taller than Jaime. And—yes, just as he figured, not far from Sandor was the tall, breathtaking Sansa Stark. _Talk about an odd couple_ , Jaime thought wryly, as half of Sandor’s face had been severely burned in some childhood accident. Though who was he to judge? People loved who they loved regardless of how it might look to the rest of the world.

He knew that better than anyone. His eyes wandered about, involuntarily searching for Cersei, as he had so many times over the years. Jaime found her quickly enough—beautiful golden hair perfectly coiffed, every curve of her body accentuated by a skintight crimson dress, attentive expression on her beautiful face, one of her arms linked through Robert’s, her free hand holding a full glass of wine, looking every inch the politician’s perfect wife.

Jaime wondered if he was the only one who saw the boredom that flitted across Cersei’s face from time to time, or the way her eyes wandered around, searching for someone. Once upon a time, that would have been him, but not anymore. Not since he’d learned the truth a few weeks ago—about their cousin Lancel. And one of those annoying Kettleblacks who’d planned last year’s Christmas party. Hell, she’d probably been sleeping with the pool boy, too.

A roar went up as the DJ started playing Adam Lambert’s “Fever.” Jaime wasn’t surprised to find Renly Baratheon and a gaggle of the crew from Robert’s re-election campaign commanding attention in the middle of the dance floor. Jaime glanced up at the chandelier on the ceiling. No one was swinging from it—yet. If the younger Stark girl was still working for Robert, though, all bets were off. (Although from what Jaime heard later, it had been a bet between Arya and Tyrion that had led to her aerodynamic stunt last year.)

Jaime ambled around the edges of the room, doing his best to avoid the melee in the middle and hoping he would find someone he knew who he could tolerate for however long this party would last for him—which, knowing Tyrion, would be the wee hours of the morning. Turnover in Robert’s office tended to be high, so pickings were slim. There was a petite, slinky redheaded woman that might have been interesting, but her red dress reminded him too much of Cersei’s. And anyway, her dark eyes were focused on Stannis.

_Seriously, what the hell is his appeal? The man is as exciting as oral surgery_ , Jaime thought, and moved on.

Jaime noticed a young man who he was pretty sure was one of the Tyrells—Loras? Willas? Not Garlan, because he was close to Jaime in age—given his curly medium brown hair and the dimple in his chin. His eyes were fixated on Renly—slightly more understandable. Renly was an idiot, but at least he was a fun idiot. Jaime noted that he got a quick once-over and couldn’t resist giving the young man a quick wink as he passed by.

Jaime had only taken a few steps away from the Tyrell kid before he stumbled over something. Or rather, _someone_. Jaime was prevented from falling to the ground by that someone taking hold of his arm.

“I am _so_ sorry!” he heard the person—a woman—say.

Jaime steadied himself and turned his head to look at the woman who was still holding his arm. To his surprise, he had to look up instead of down—she was slightly taller than he was, with light-colored hair that hung limply to her shoulders. She was a sturdy woman—large but not fat, wearing a plain black dress that made no efforts to hide her lack of curves. Although the lighting in the room was poor, he was able to make out enough of her features to conclude that calling her unattractive would have been generous. It was as though someone had put a mishmash of odd features together on one freckly face. Her jaw was square and sturdy, and she had a wide, full-lipped mouth that was only just able to cover her crooked teeth. Her nose had been broken at least once. As for her eyes, he couldn’t tell in the dark, but he guessed they’d have to be considered her best feature.

“Not your fault,” he said. “I was the one not paying attention to where I was walking.”

“If you’re sure…” She let go of his arm.

He nodded, then continued walking around the room, trying to find someone to talk to without success. He’d hoped to be able to talk to Brynden Tully, the Secretary of Defense who shared Jaime’s interest in the Age of Heroes, but Brynden had brought along his niece Lysa. Lysa still held a grudge against Jaime for not asking her to a college party, though he’d never figured out why she’d thought he was interested in her. (Her sister Catelyn, on the other hand…) So Brynden was out.

Jaime thought he’d caught a glimpse of Jaqen H’ghar, the head of the Secret Service, but decided that must have been a trick of the light. The man was as elusive as a ghost, but he knew so much about Westeros’s past that Jaime was dying to pick his brain about his theories on the Conquest.

Jaime didn’t realize that he’d made an entire lap of the room until he found himself walking past the ugly girl again. Oddly, something about her reminded him of Tyrion, even though they could not have been more opposite. She looked young—he’d be surprised if she was more than twenty-five. She was still standing against the wall, watching the action on the dance floor with a look of longing on her face. 

“Why don’t you join them?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Jaime jerked a thumb in the direct of the dance floor. “Out there. Why don’t you join them and dance?”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, reminding him of a fish. “I…I can’t dance.”

Jaime snorted. “You think any of them can? You’ve probably been watching them long enough to figure out that all they’re doing is flailing about spastically to the beat. If you can do that, you’ve got it made.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t even do that, so…”

Jaime felt a small twinge of sympathy. It was so clear from the look on her face that she wanted to be out there dancing. He was about to offer to join her so she wouldn’t feel so awkward when the music came to an end and the DJ announced that he was taking a short break.

“Karaoke time!” he heard an all-too-familiar voice yell, to tremendous applause.

Well, now Jaime knew where Tyrion was. At least he was just planning to sing, something he did well, instead of dangling from the chandelier. He decided that his companion had the perfect view of what was to come, so he took a place beside her against the wall. He felt her stiffen slightly when his shoulder brushed hers.

“I’m Jaime,” he said. “Jaime Lannister.”

“B-Brienne,” she replied. “Brienne Tarth.”

“So, how do you work for Robert?” he asked as he watched the crowd part for Tyrion to go through.

“I don’t. I’m a…friend…of Renly’s.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up at that. She was so the opposite of someone the handsome and stylish Renly Baratheon would be friends with that the notion was laughable. And if she were really a friend of Renly’s, why wouldn’t she be out there with him and the rest of his crew? More likely Renly knew her somehow, had felt bad for her, and had invited her to this party.

“His family knows my family,” she mumbled. “We went to high school together, and we got to be friends there. He knew I was in town for a job interview, so he invited me tonight.”

And proceeded to ignore her from there. _Renly, you asshole_ , Jaime thought. Before he could say anything more, two things happened at about the same time. First, Tyrion stepped onto the small stage that clearly had been set up for just such a purpose. The mic had been set for someone of average height, which Tyrion, at barely four feet tall, was not. This was hardly going to deter him, however. Tyrion grabbed the entire stand and brought the mic to his level.

Second, someone grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. Someone with long, sharp nails that gouged into his flesh even through his clothing. Jaime didn’t need to look her way to know who it was.

“You have to stop him,” Cersei hissed in his ear as Tyrion introduced himself to the crowd.

“From what, singing? Why? He’s great at it,” Jaime said, deliberately being obtuse. “This is going to be fun.”

She tugged on his arm. “Do you think he’s going to choose something appropriate? No. He’s going to choose something that will embarrass us just for that reason.”

_Tyrion could break into “Nessun dorma” from_ Turandot _and you’d find something to criticize_. “So he sings some dirty song, embarrasses you, makes Robert laugh his ass off, and no one remembers in the morning because they’re as hammered as he is. Lighten up, Cersei.”

Cersei opened her mouth to say something else when she realized that they were in a public place, with an audience standing mere inches away. She glared at the girl—Brienne, was it?—and tugged at him again. “We will discuss this further someplace else.”

Jaime considered refusing to move. It wasn’t like she could pick him up and carry him over her shoulder if he didn’t come with her. But it was clear from her slightly flushed cheeks that Cersei had had more wine than she should have, so who knew what kind of scene she might cause if he refused.

Tyrion wasn’t the only person Jaime had to keep an eye on at these parties.

Jaime nodded at Brienne and walked out of the ballroom with Cersei. He expected her to lead him to the nearest empty room or a supply closet, but to his surprise, she led him to the bank of elevators that he knew from experience would take them to private rooms on the second floor.

“Cersei…you wanted to talk about Tyrion. Let’s talk about Tyrion,” he protested as one of the elevators opened.

“I have every intention of talking about Tyrion, but not where anyone can walk in on us.” She stepped into the elevator, but Jaime did not. When the door started to close, she punched the button to keep the door open. “Well, are you coming or not?”

Jaime shook his head. “There are rooms down here. We’ll talk in one of them. Or we’ll talk right here. Or maybe we won’t talk at all, because I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re embarrassed by him.”

She looked surprised, and Jaime knew exactly why. How many times had he refused to do something she asked? Jaime couldn’t remember the last time, if there ever had been a time. Cersei said “frog,” and he jumped. But not anymore.

“Fine, we’ll talk here. His behavior at these parties gets worse every year, and I’m tired of it.”

“He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“He’s done everything wrong since the day he was born.”

And there it was—the real reason why Cersei and Tywin hated Tyrion. Never mind that Cersei and Jaime eventually learned that Joanna had been advised against getting pregnant again after they’d been born. Never mind that Tywin had encouraged her to get pregnant anyway because Joanna had wanted more children. Never mind that the pregnancy had been high-risk from the moment of conception. Never mind that the doctor attending Joanna had been drunk. Never mind that, in his drunken state, he hadn’t monitored her as well as he should have, and she’d suffered an amniotic fluid embolism.

In their eyes, Tyrion had killed Joanna simply by being born. And then compounded that sin by being born with dwarfism.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this again,” Jaime said, feeling every one of his thirty-five years as a heaviness settled on him. “He’s not doing anything your husband, our esteemed leader, hasn’t done or won’t be doing later tonight. If you have a problem with that, tell Father to start coming to these parties and leave us out of it. I know I’d rather not be here, and Tyrion feels the same.”

“You’ve never had an issue coming to these parties before.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. Jaime had attended the parties to spend time with Tyrion, and in the hopes of spending time with Cersei. Sometimes he’d joined Tyrion in his antics. Sometimes he got the opportunity to find an empty room to have sex with Cersei. But most of the time, he’d found himself standing on the wall, just as the poor ugly girl had tonight. He knew so few of the people at these parties, and he didn’t like those that he did know.

To be fair, Jaime had never told her how he felt. But at the same time, if Cersei knew him as well as she always claimed she did, she should’ve realized it a long time ago.

“Oh, I see. You’re still upset about Lancel,” she said slowly, as though it had just dawned on her. “Honestly, Jaime, if you’d been in town like you’d said you would be, it never would have happened. But no, you had to go haring off to some stupid meeting of the Secret Society of History Nerds, and I was left all alone.”

“So your infidelities are all my fault,” he said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Infidelities? I told you, it was just the one time with Lancel.”

“And the several times with Kettleblack—was it Osmund or Osney? Maybe it was both. How are those my fault?”

Cersei’s eyes widened. There was a flicker of guilt—only for a moment, but it was there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaime gave her a disgusted look. “Cersei, some free advice if Robert ever finds out the truth. Innocence isn’t your strong suit. I’d go for ‘you do it, so why can’t I?’ That’ll work out better for you.” Even though he’d known it was coming, Jaime wasn’t able to react in time to the slap. When she raised her hand again, however, he grabbed her wrist to stop her. “You want embarrassment? Do that again and then send me back in there where everyone will see.”

She jerked her arm free. “The singing better be the last thing he does tonight. He finishes his song, then you get him the hell out of here. Understood?”

“Gladly, my sweet sister.” Jaime bowed his head in mock acquiescence and walked back toward the ballroom.

As he opened the door, he heard Tyrion singing “Santa Baby” in a rather poor imitation of Eartha Kitt.

_Maybe Cersei had a point._

Jaime moved away from the door, knowing that Cersei would be along soon enough, and headed for the stage to see if he could convince Tyrion to leave early. Maybe he could play up his heartbreak. Tyrion had never approved of the nature of Jaime’s relationship with Cersei, but in a weird way, he’d understood. And he would be sympathetic.

Tyrion finished the song to laughter and cheers. He took two deep bows. “Thank you! Thank you!” Jaime waved at Tyrion to get his attention. Tyrion stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “You guys have been great. Hope you keep having fun tonight! Merry Christmas!” He set the mic stand upright again just as Jaime reached the stage. He cocked his head. Jaime nodded in response.

“You’d better have a decent Dornish red back at your place,” Tyrion said once they were far enough away from the stage that his words wouldn’t be picked up by the mic. “I was halfway to getting Shae Volantis’s number.”

“You remember she was a stripper, right?”

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose. “You remember _you_ were a stripper, right?”

Jaime wanted to say, _That was different, I knew I’d never have to go through with it long-term,_ but that would be hypocritical of him. Shae did what she had to do to keep her bills paid and a roof over her head. It wasn’t her fault that there was something about her that Jaime just couldn’t like. If Tyrion liked her enough to pursue something serious, Jaime would learn to adjust.

They had nearly reached the entrance when there was polite applause, and then music began playing as someone else took a turn at karaoke.

“Hey, maybe I’ll dye my hair…Maybe I’ll move somewhere…”

Jaime froze as someone sang the opening lines to a song he had done everything to avoid hearing for twenty-eight years. He was catapulted back to the last time he’d heard the whole thing, to Joanna’s sad face and the wistfulness in her voice as she sang. He felt as though someone had kicked him in the gut and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, that was his mother’s song and he should storm over to that damned stage, unplug the karaoke machine, and make whoever was singing _his mother’s song_ to regret every one of their life choices.

“Maybe I’ll get a car, maybe I’ll drive so far they’ll all lose track…”

But there was something…it wasn’t just that she had a beautiful singing voice. There was something in the way she sang that was affecting him. She wasn’t just a drunken idiot who chose this song on a whim at the office Christmas party. This song had meaning to her, and she sang it as someone who was living this, who knew that life could have sweet moments and hard moments and everything in between.

She sang this the same way his mother had sang it.

Jaime turned around to see who it was, his feet taking him toward the singer. When Tyrion had been on stage, someone had brought up the lights around the stage, but now they were dim again. He should have had more difficulty figuring out who she was, but she was standing and there were very few people in the room as tall as she, and none of them were women.

“Me, I’ll bounce right back…” Brienne Tarth sang, her eyes staring out at everything and nothing, reminding him again of Joanna.

Through a fog, Jaime heard Tyrion say his name twice, but he ignored him. Eventually he heard nothing but Brienne’s voice as the song continued. There were tears in Jaime’s eyes and he blinked several times to dispel them.

So much had changed after Joanna had died. Tywin had moved to King’s Landing permanently, leaving his children at Casterly Rock in the care of a series of nannies until the time came for Jaime and Cersei to be sent off to their respective boarding schools. Tywin came home once a month for a weekend, but even then he spent most of his time working on government business. The only notice he took of the twins was when he asked them how they were progressing at school and in their extracurricular pursuits (ballet for Cersei, soccer for Jaime). He took no notice of Tyrion at all.

Jaime hadn’t understood just how permanent this new arrangement was until Christmas. The small family Christmas celebration that Joanna had loved so dearly was gone, replaced by a formal gathering of family and political cronies. The house was no longer decorated with homey touches at Christmastime, the tree devoid of the homemade ornaments Joanna had made with Jaime and Cersei. The house smelled as it always smelled, instead of smelling like cinnamon and ginger from Joanna’s Christmas baking.

On that first Christmas morning without Joanna, when Jaime realized that his mother wasn’t going to wake him up and whisper in his ear to _get up sleepyhead, Santa left you lots of presents_ , he’d cried, muffling his sobs with his pillow so that no one would hear him.

Her death had left an emptiness in his heart and his life that had never been filled—not by history classes, not by his recent discovery of new information on his ancestor, Lann the Clever, not by the good times he spent with Tyrion.

Not even with Cersei.

But now, listening to that tall, gawky, ugly blond woman singing the song he most associated with his mother…it felt like a little piece of him was coming back to life.

Brienne sang the chorus one final time, two tears rolling down her face. The music ended, and she received polite applause. She adjusted the mic stand and attempted to step down from the stage, but her foot caught on a wire and she tripped.

Before she could fall, Jaime surged forward and caught her by the arms. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he could guess why. There weren’t a lot of guys who would’ve had the strength not only to catch her, but also to hold on to her without getting hurt.

“We need to stop running into each other like this,” Jaime said with a smile, still staring into her eyes. Now that he was close, and the light was a little better, he could see that they were a beautiful shade of blue.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked.

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything to me.” By now, she’d caught her equilibrium. He slowly released her arms but stayed close by as she stepped down from the stage, just in case.

“I-I didn’t mean to trip. I’m not usually this clumsy.” She headed back toward the section of the wall she’d claimed earlier. He followed.

“Me, either. From earlier, I mean. I’m not usually that clumsy, but I had a lot on my mind so I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” They reached the wall and she stared at him as though she wasn’t sure what he was still doing there. “I’m Jaime Lannister, by the way.”

“You told me that earlier,” she said. “I’m still Brienne.”

“Right. Renly’s friend who can’t dance but who apparently likes to sing.” By now, another woman had taken over the karaoke stage and was massacring “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” As she hit a sour note, they both winced. “I don’t suppose we could convince you to go back up there, save us from this disaster?”

Her lips quivered. Jaime was determined that he was going to get this woman to crack a smile before the night was over. He’d consider it a major victory if he could get her to laugh.

“I shouldn’t have gone up there in the first place. People probably thought I sounded pathetic.” Brienne’s shoulders hunched as though she were expecting a blow.

“I thought you sounded wonderful,” Jaime said honestly, and received another puzzled look for his efforts. “That song…” He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should say something so personal to a stranger. “It reminded me of my mother.”

She blinked owlishly at him. “My father said it was one of my mother’s favorites. It was one of the first songs I learned to sing because of that, but then I was always too afraid to sing it to him.”

The singer hit a series of notes that went from sharp to flat. “This is ridiculous,” Jaime muttered. “Look, this party’s really not my scene. Want to get out of here and go get something to eat?”

Brienne looked suspicious. “Is this some kind of joke? Did someone pay you money to ask me out?”

Jaime’s brow furrowed. “No to both questions. Why do you ask?”

She bit her lower lip. “Because I’m me and you’re you. The you’s of the world don’t ask the me’s out to eat. People might think it was a date.”

Jaime hadn’t thought about it like that. He knew nothing about dating, having been with Cersei for so long and everything about their relationship having to be kept secret. Would most women consider this a date? Would Brienne? Not if her reaction was any indication.

_Would he?_

In the space of a heartbeat, Jaime knew. “Then they wouldn’t be wrong.” When she said nothing, he rushed to fill in the void. “I’m not good at asking women out, but I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m asking you to dinner as my date. I’m not asking you as a joke, or to fulfill a bet, but because…”

_Because I heard your voice and I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time._ No, that would scare her off.

_Because I find you strangely compelling._ What the hell did that even mean?

_Because you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen._

“I hear that a lot.”

Jaime blinked. “Huh?”

“My eyes. People tell me I have nice eyes, then follow it up by saying, ‘Shame about the rest of you.’”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?” she asked.

“That I want to take you to dinner because I find you compelling.” _At least I left out the strange part_. “And because you have beautiful eyes.” When she said nothing again, he said, “Look, curse me, kiss me, call me a liar, whatever. Just put me out of my misery and give me an answer. Please.”

She blinked a couple more times and then said, “Okay. I’ll…I’ll go with you.”

And when she smiled, another part of Jaime came back to life.

~*~*~*~*~*

_Six Years Later._

As rare as it was for them to get snow so far south, it was ever rarer for the snow to fall so close to Christmas day. Rarest of all was that the snow looked likely to stick, the temperature being uncommonly cold. Of course, King’s Landing lost its collective mind at the first sign of snow, so traffic had been insane and Jaime’s usual fifteen-minute trip home from the university took closer to forty-five minutes.

Jaime stomped on the welcome mat outside to dislodge most of the snow from his shoes before he opened the door. The smell of something good in the oven almost, but not quite, covered up an underlying burnt scent. He smiled. _Another attempt at baking Christmas cookies down the drain_ , he thought. He’d barely gotten inside and set down his briefcase when he heard, “DADDY!” Before he could get his bearings, a whirling dervish ran down the hall to their front door and attached itself to his leg, clamping its arms around his waist. Jaime stumbled for a moment but managed to stay upright, chuckling as he put an arm around his daughter.

He looked down to find a pair of blue eyes staring up at him through a tangle of straw-colored curls. 

“Hi, Daddy! We missed you today. Mommy tried to bake cookies and the kitchen started smelling funny and got smoky, and then that alarm went off and wouldn’t stop so Mommy took it down and stomped on it.”

Jaime swore he wasn’t going to laugh because Brienne was determined to bring homemade cookies to the potluck Christmas dinner they were attending at Tyrion’s house in a couple of days. Kind of like how she’d been determined to learn to knit booties when she’d found out she was pregnant with Joanna, and they’d turned out misshapen and full of holes. Jaime hadn’t laughed then, either.

Not in Brienne’s hearing, anyway.

“Hello to you, Trouble,” he said.

“I’m not Trouble! I’m Joanna!” she said loudly.

“Oh, really? That’s funny. I have a present for someone named Trouble, but if you’re only Joanna..”

“I’m Trouble! I’m Trouble!”

Jaime laughed and managed to free his leg from Joanna’s grasp. He picked up his briefcase and opened it, taking out the toy sword that he’d found at a toy store during his lunch break. He knew he shouldn’t have bought it for Joanna, but something about it reminded him of the replica he had of Brightroar that hung in his home office. Joanna was fascinated by that sword, and her eyes lit up when she saw the one Jaime had brought her.

“Now, there are some rules that go with this. You aren’t to play with it inside except in your play room. You can play with it outside when the weather is good. Okay?” When she nodded, he continued. “You cannot hit anyone with it. At all. If I find out that you have, I’ll take it away and you’ll never see it again. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Joanna’s eyes were solemn.

“Okay, then.” He handed her the sword.

Joanna looked at it as if it were the real Brightroar, holding it carefully in her hands for a second. And then she reverted to four-year-old form and ran down the hall, yelling, “Mommy! Look at what Daddy got me! Look!”

Jaime couldn’t hear what Brienne was saying to their daughter, but he could guess that she looked exasperated as she did. They’d had the Don’t Spoil the Kid talk years ago, but Jaime had occasional hiccups.

“I’m going to call it Briar and it’ll be better than Daddy’s sword ‘cause it’s _mine_.”

Jaime wandered down to the kitchen, where he found Joanna already breaking rule number one by swinging the sword around. Brienne was sitting at the small table they had in there, bemused. “What did I just tell you about that, Trouble?” he asked her.

Joanna had the grace to look guilty. “No playing with it inside.”

“For breaking the rule, you have to go to bed.”

“Nooo! You just got home!” she wailed.

Brienne stood up slowly, resting a hand in the small of her back. “Sweetling, your father told you it’s bedtime. Don’t give him any trouble or I’ll take the sword away for good.”

Joanna looked as though she might burst into tears, but seeing that she was getting nowhere, she allowed Jaime to lead her to her bedroom upstairs. Once she was settled, she asked, “Daddy, will you sing to me? Pleeeease?”

Jaime smiled and nodded. “What do you want me to sing? Rudolph? Frosty? Mean old Mr. Grinch?”

Joanna shook her head. “Sing me Grandma JoJo’s song.”

Jaime hesitated only a moment, and then he began to sing the familiar words. “Hey, maybe I’ll dye my hair…maybe I’ll move somewhere…”

Jaime didn’t sing often, as his voice wasn’t nearly as good as Brienne’s. But strangely enough, Joanna usually fell asleep right away when he sang, whereas it would take Brienne two or three songs before she dropped off. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Brienne standing in the doorway, one hand on her rounded stomach. There were tears shimmering in her eyes as she listened to Jaime sing to Joanna. He didn’t falter as he finished, then placed a kiss on Joanna’s forehead.

~*~*~*~*~*

Later that night, lying in bed with Brienne wrapped around him, Jaime thought about how everything had turned out. Like the song, there had been good times and bad times, and he weathered both with Brienne.

That first date had lasted nearly seven hours, as they’d found an all-night diner and started talking. Well, he’d talked. She’d listened and occasionally talked in her turn when he dragged information out of her. He guessed it had gone well enough because she’d agreed to go out with him again. And again. With each date, he felt the emptiness in his heart recede more and more. He would always miss his mother, and there would always be a small part of his heart that was empty because that was a space no one could fill but Joanna. But Brienne had come along and made him feel alive.

Seven months after their first date, he’d asked her to marry him. They hadn’t been aware at the time that she was already pregnant with Joanna, but when the test had been positive, they’d opted to elope. His father had been furious, Cersei apoplectic, but Tyrion had been ecstatic. Whether this was out of genuine joy for Jaime or because of the reaction of the rest of the family, Jaime didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know. Tyrion was a frequent visitor at their house, and he did worse at not following the Don’t Spoil the Kid rule than Jaime did.

Jaime rarely spoke with Cersei anymore. There was a part of him that missed her, because she was his twin and he’d been closer to her than he’d been to anyone for most of his life. But as he fell in love with Brienne, he came to see just how twisted what he’d had with Cersei had been. Was it love? Some form of it, he guessed. But it was nothing compared to what he felt for Brienne, and Cersei simply couldn’t handle that. So she stayed away, and only Tywin’s presence kept her on her best behavior on the rare occasions the entire family gathered under the same roof.

Tywin had come around completely after Joanna had been born. Jaime had been nervous to tell his father what he and Brienne had decided to name their baby, but the minute Tywin heard the name, a small, satisfied look crossed his face that was almost, but not quite, a smile. He repeated the name to himself and nodded. He’d then started bombarding Jaime and Brienne with brochures for the best schools in Westeros and commenting about Joanna’s prospects. Jaime threatened to track down Littlefinger again and ask for a job, and that silenced Tywin on the subject…for now.

Jaime often wondered how his mother would have reacted to Brienne. For all their outward differences, Brienne was a great deal like his mother had been. Joanna had been more open and affectionate, but underneath Brienne’s reserve was a warm, generous woman. Joanna had always been willing to volunteer to help out those in need, as Brienne was much the same way. Both women loved fiercely and would do anything to protect those they considered theirs.

In his heart, he knew Joanna would have loved her as much as he did, and that was enough for him.


End file.
